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Dad always told people he worked in "data processing." Pretty vague, right? But that's how it was in our house. The computer he brought home had government stickers all over it, and he'd never let us peek at his screen. Just another normal day in classified family life.

Dad always told us not to mention mom's work at school. When friends asked why she worked nights, I'd just shrug and say "government stuff." It became normal, like the black cars that sometimes followed us or the strange calls at midnight.

The old photograph fell from between the pages of my father's journal. It showed three men in white lab coats standing before a steel door marked "Section 7." Dad never mentioned working there, but then again, there were many things he never discussed.

Dad always told people he was just a security contractor. But I noticed how he'd get calls at weird hours, and sometimes he'd disappear for days. When my friends asked, I'd just shrug and say he worked nights. We all understood the unspoken rules.

Dad always told people he was in "waste management" when they asked. It wasn't exactly a lie - that's what his ID badge said. But the way the trucks only moved at night, and how he never talked about his routes... well, we knew better than to ask.

Dad always told people he was just a maintenance worker. But the hours were weird, and sometimes he'd come home looking tired in ways regular maintenance guys don't. The security badges changed colors every month, and we learned not to ask why.

I found an old photograph in my father's study yesterday. The edges were worn, showing a group of scientists in white coats, but their faces were deliberately blurred. On the back, written in faded ink: "Project Echo, 1982. Remember to forget."

Dad always told people he was just a security guard at the base. Simple job, nothing special. But I noticed how he never brought his uniform home, never talked about coworkers. When friends asked, he'd just smile and say "Night shift's pretty quiet."